The Gangster and the Frog
by Elfera
Summary: Al was just a simple gangster, trying to make his way in the world, and Napoleon was a very important general visiting from France, but when he accidentally gets turned into a frog and drags Al into it they have to dig a little deeper and find a way to reverse the spell. Napoleon/Al Capone
1. Prologue

**Hello! And welcome to my first installment of my newest fanfiction!**

**Wow, okay, that sounds weird. (Probably should lay off the let's plays.) **

**Anyways, I was kinda thinking about this AU for awhile, and after watching Cinderella, I knew I had to write it.**

**This chapter's a little short, but that's mostly because it's the prologue. A lot of it I got from **_**Young Al Capone **_**and so it's really similar to that, but I did put it into my own wording, so I'm pretty sure it's okay. I just thought this conversation should go into it, kinda like in the beginning of The Princess and the Frog. **

**Just keep in mind, that this is highly inspired by the Disney movie, but it's NOT a crossover with it. **

**So… here it is, I hope you enjoy and review once you're done.**

**Disclaimer**

**I don't own Night at the Museum.**

Eleven year old Alphonsus Gabriel Capone (More commonly known as Al), made his way down the streets of New York with his new, red shoe shine box held by his side. His father had just recently given the young boy the box, and he was determined to make his father proud of him.

Currently, the eleven year old was trailing behind another shoe shine boy with a fancy shine box, in attempt to learn about more spots when he was called over by a fancy looking man with nice brown oxfords.

"Make sure to give them a good shine." The man told him, as he put his foot down on the shoe shine box Al set near him.

"Sure thing, Mister."

The man tilted his head as he looked down at Al.

"Say, I don't think I've seen you around here."

"It's my first day." Al admitted, as he started to begin.

"Oh no." The man instantly retracted his foot. "I'm not going to be any kid's guinea pig."

Fearing he was going to lose a customer, Al quickly came up with a lie. "What I meant, is that I'm new around these parts. Usually I shine around Navy Yard."

The man was still skeptical of the young boy. "How old are you?" He asked. "You look a little young."

"I'm thirteen." Al lied. "But trust me, I'll give you a good shine."

The man stared at Al for awhile, before sighing and putting his foot back on the box.

"What the Hell."

Awhile into the shine, Al noticed that the man seemed to be looking off at a group of men.

"Do you know who that is?" He asked Al.

"I just told you I'm new around here. Why? Are they important?"

"Are they… Do you see that man in the brown overcoat and fedora? His name's Balsamo, and he's the big cheese around here."

Al turned to look at them, but the man quickly stopped him.

"If you're going to look, you should stop your shining." He advised.

Al nodded. "What do you mean by the 'big cheese'?" Al asked. "Everyone seems to be respecting him, is he like the pope's brother?"

"Around here, he's called the Mayor of Union Street." The man told him

"What is it that he does?" Al asked him. "Does he kill people?"

Al was intrigued by what the man was saying, and by the prospect of the power the man had. Wondering if he could get the same power and respect the Balsamo man had.

"He owns a fish market, but that's not how he makes his money." The man told him. "Ya know those pushcarts?" Al nodded. "They have to pay accamura to him every week."

"What does that mean?" Al asked.

"It means they have to pay him insurance, to make sure they don't get hurt. " The man told him.

Al had just finished the shine, and the man had pulled out a quarter and handed it to Al.

"I don't have enough change to pay you back." Al admitted.

"It's alright, I won a score last night." The man told him.

"So, why are people afraid of that man?" Al asked, wanting to know more about the man.

"He has a lot of muscle, that's what makes him tick." The man told him, then inspected his shoes. "I like your job, what's your name, kid?"

"Alphonse Capone."


	2. Down in Chicago

**Aye.**

**Now, before I start this next chapter, I have decided to add in someone I wasn't planning on before, and so there's going to be something you need to know.**

_Whenever you see this _**a character is going to using sign langue, and **_"When you see this" _**They'll be speaking and signing at the same time.**

**I do not own Night at the Museum, nor any of the characters you find in this chapter. Well, save for a few. **

Fifteen Years Later

Click. BANG!

Click. BANG!

Over and over again, was the sound of the police's guns shooting at the two gangsters, who were hiding behind a brick fence. These two two gangsters were none other and Ralph and Al Capone, two of the most famous gangsters of Chicago. (Of course, the younger of the two being a bit more famous than the other.)

"Well, that didn't go as planned." Ralph said, wincing when a bullet from the police men struck too close.

"Ya think?" Al growled. "What the Hell is wrong with those people?" He asked, pulling Ralph closer when a bullet struck uncomfortably close to his older brother's head. After all, he didn't want a repeat of what had happened to Frank.

"And we didn't do anything!" Ralph exclaimed angrily. "Dammit, you'd think those bulls would do their damn job right for once."

Al nodded in agreement, before frowning as he strained his ears for gunfire.

"Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly." Al said, before peeking out from behind the fence and nearly having a heart attack when he found his face within an inch from another's.

"Dammit Johnny!" Al growled, taking a step back after finding Johnny Torrio's face an inch away from his own.

"Ya know, the minute I heard gunshots I knew you were around here." Johnny said. "You're lucky I was able to convince the bulls to leave you alone, or else you'd be dead or in jail by now."

"Tell me about it." Ralph said, rubbing the spot on his arm a bullet had just nicked. Luckily, not enough to do much damage, but it did draw a tiny bit of blood. "How'dya do it?"

"Reminded them about that French general who's visiting today." Johnny said. "The mayor doesn't want any unnecessary blood in the streets while that guy's around. It'll be real handy for us."

"Really? How so?" Ralph asked.

As Johnny started to tell Ralph about all the benefits of having the important French general around, Al glanced away from them, biting his lip as he did so as he tapped a pattern on his pants legs. Finally Al's eyes landed on the clock of a bank, and he took a double take, before glancing down at his watch to make sure it wasn't true.

"Shit!" Al growled.

"What?" Ralph asked, frowning at his brother.

"I have to go." Al told him. "See ya two later."

Then, giving no explanation, as usual, Al ran for his car.

"You're late." Was the first thing Ms. Pennysworth said the moment Al rushed into the classroom, barely looking up from her paperwork.

Doing the mature thing, Al stuck his tongue out at her, before recomposing himself.

"Sorry 'bout that, something… came up."

"Of course it did." The teacher murmured, and Al resisted the urge to kick her to New Orleans. "He's over there."

Al nodded, and muttered something inappropriate about the woman under his breathe, as he went over to where the teacher directed him.

Smiling fondly, Al gently tapped his son on the shoulder to get his attention, and when the boy looked up, Al quickly signed.

_You ready to go?_

Al's son, Albert, or as he was more commonly referred to, Sonny, nodded. Smiling, the seven year old stood, and allowed his father to take his hand.

Al smiled down at Sonny, his pride and joy, and turned to leave the cursed classroom, when the teacher decided to speak.

"Mr. Capone?"

Al sighed and turned to look at the teacher.

"Yes?" He asked, making it obvious that he didn't want to talk to her.

"I'm hoping that you'll be on time to pick up your son for once." She told him. "Tomorrow, you'll be on time, correct?"

"Yeah, sure." Al said, waving her off.

Al shoved the door open, holding it a bit longer to let Sonny into the house, before closing it firmly with a heavy sigh.

"_God do your homework, okay?"_ Al told Sonny, and after getting a quick nod the seven year old ran off. Letting Al slump in defeat, not having to keep up his act anymore.

"Damn, I'm getting too old to keep doing this stuff." He muttered under his breath as he shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it to the side.

It had only been a year since Al's wife, Mae, had died due to an automobile accident, and ever since then everything had been hard. Of course, he would never let Sonny see it, not wanting the seven year old to suffer any more than he already was. But he couldn't help but have little slip-ups now and then. Getting into too many fights, coming late to pick Sonny up from school and there had been days when Al completely forgot to pick up his son, leaving the teacher no choice but to call the gangster's parents to pick him up. Honestly, Al didn't know how much longer he could fuck everything up before he would just let Sonny stay at his parent's for a while.

It would be best for him, after all, to be in an environment much better than the one here.

Al sighed, and walked into the living room. He muttered to himself in Italian, turning the radio on.

"_Today, the famous French general, Napoleon Bonaparte, arrived in Chicago a few hours ago for the important meeting in a few days' time. We here in the windy city are honored to-"_

There was a bunch of scrambling as Al turned the radio dial, finally turning it off.

The gangster sighed to himself, before taking a seat on a couch, and putting his head into his hands.

"God, what am I going to do?"

The first thing Napoleon Bonaparte noticed when he arrived in Chicago was that their name for it was very accurate.

"Dieu il est froid. Me rappelle de la Russie!" He said to himself as he glanced around. All around him were large buildings, and rushing cars. If he were to be honest, he felt a bit small in the large city, but he would never admit it.

The general turned to his second in command, a man by the name of Adolphe.

"Est-ce que tout est en ordre?" Napoleon asked, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Oui." Adolphe nodded. "They want us to be at the meeting in two days."

"Two days? Why are we here two days before hand?" Napoleon demanded, wishing for a better jacket besides the one he was wearing.

"I thought it would be a good idea to look over the city." Adolphe admitted.

Napoleon sighed dramatically, as all French do. "Well then, where is the hotel you checked us into?"

"I… Do not remember." Adolphe said sheepishly.

"Je suis entouré d'idiots.." The general sighed. "Okay, first order of business, we find the hotel you so stupidly forgotten, then. God, I do not know. What was the name of that hotel, again?"

"The Ambassador East Hotel." Adolphe said.

"Well then, let us go find it. Affrettati!"

**Yeah, it's short. I know, but hey, at least it now has Napoleon.**

**And Sonny, you have to love that little dork. (Actually, I have no idea if he was actually a dork, but I've seen scenes with him in it from Boardwalk Empire and cried so…)**

**Anyways, French translations! (I do not know how accurate these are, and I apologize. I do not speak French.)**

**Dieu il est froid. Me rappelle de la Russie. – God it is cold. Reminds me of Russia.**

**Est-ce que tout est en ordre ? – Is everything in order?**

**Je suis entouré d'idiots. – I'm surrounded by idiots**

**Affrettati! – Hurry up!**


	3. Not the Way Things Tend to Go

**Sup. I'm back with another chapter of this thing.**

**Okay, first of all, I'll admit, I suck at writing songs. I've tried multiple times, mostly because I want to write a musical. Who knows? Maybe I'll get the hang of it and write a NATM musical. I have an idea too.**

**Anyways, so I can't write songs, keep that in mind.**

**Also, in the case of Adolphe. I swear, all I did when naming him was look at French names, and say, hey, that looks like something everyone knows how to pronounce.**

**It wasn't until after I posted the chapter that, well, I remembered why most people would know how to pronounce it. Whoops.**

**Also, I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but swearing will be prominent in this story. Kinda can't not have it with these characters. Sorry.**

**Anyways on with the chapter.**

**(I totally didn't take that scene from Boardwalk Empire. AND I APOLOGIZE FOR THE SONG!)**

Al muttered to himself as he sat at the dining room table. Scribbling down on a piece of paper, as he attempted to figure out what he was going to do. He knew he couldn't keep living this way, it wasn't good for Sonny but he didn't exactly know his choices. He couldn't exactly just give Sonny to his mother, since the boy needs his father. Mostly because that would mean moving back to New York, which wasn't exactly a good idea thanks to that stinky Irish fuck he met in that pub a while ago. Yet what was he going to do? Live in the same down, and the same house that reminded him of Mae all the time?

He also couldn't join Vincent, mostly because A) The dude was a cop and B) To Hell he was going to pretend he wasn't Italian.

Tapping his fingers against the wood of the table, Al let out a heavy sigh. Biting his lip, Al was about to try write something else down when the phone let it's shrill voices interrupt the quiet of the dining room.

"Lovely." Al muttered, pushing away from the table and standing. He stretched lazily and went to the phone and picked it up.

"Hello?" He asked, upon answering.

"Hello Alphonse." Johnny's voice said from the other end.

"Johnny."

"Listen, we're going to be needed you to come earlier than we discussed yesterday." Johnny told him. In the background, Al could pick out shouts and yells. Probably a gambling game.

"Why?" Al asked.

"Well," Al could sense that the bastard was grinning proudly on the other end. "I managed to come across that famous French general, Napoleon. Invited him to our little party."

"What? Really?" Al asked.

"Yup. We're having a Frenchie at our party tomorrow, so I'm going to need my right-hand guy there. Think you can be there?"

"Depends. How early are we talking about?"

"How about you come right after dropping your boy at school?" Johnny asked. "Would that be good for ya?"

"Yeah, sure." Al leaned against the wall, cursing Johnny. He was going to use that time between to get some rest.

"Great! Now, just to remind you, I want no bloodshed at this party. So no matter what happens, either it be someone spitting at you, looking at you the wrong way, or calling you 'Scarface'" Al scowled at the mention of his hated nickname. "You are NOT to do anything. You will just smile and shake it off. Understand?"

"Whatever you say Johnny."

"We do not need any bad publicity during this time." Johnny stressed. "So please, for the love of God, don't try anything. You will be at your best at this party. You will smile, greet Napoleon, and mingle. Maybe dance with a few dolls. But there will be no maiming, killing, cursing, or any of that shit. Understand?"

"Yes! I've got it Johnny." Al rolled his eyes.

"Should I go over it one more time?"

"Johnny you-"Al felt a tugging on his pants and looked down to see Sonny staring at him. "Hold up." Al set the phone down and kneeled down to be eye-to-eye to Sonny.

"_What is it?"_

Sonny frowned, fidgeting a bit before looking up at his father. _I can't sleep. I… I was wondering if you would do the same thing you did a while ago. When people were being mean to me at school. _Sonny looked at him hopefully.

"_Sure," _Al smiled. _"Just let me finish this call to your godfather, and I'll be right there. Okay?"_

Sonny nodded and ran off. Leaving Al to pick up the phone.

"Something popped up Johnny. I gotta go, see you tomorrow."

"Wait, I-"

"Bye!" Al hung up. "Jeez, you mess up a few times and suddenly no one can trust you." Al rolled his eyes, but smiled at the same time. "Now to tend to my child."

After a quick stop to his bedroom, Al entered Sonny's room. Smiling when he saw the seven year old light up at the sight of him.

Walking over, Al sat down on Sonny's bed, letting the child wrap his arms around him. Resting his tiny child hands on Al's neck.

Once Al was sure Sonny was situated comfortably, and his mandola was in a good position, Al started.

"I wish I could tell you

That things will be right

That the future

Will be wonderful and bright

I wish I could promise you

That nothing will ever hurt you

But I can't

Because there are things I can't promise

And things I will miss

Things I can't fix with only a kiss

I wish I could tell you

That I'll always be there

But that's not the way

Things tend to go

One day I'll be gone

And only the memory

Of my heart will go on

But that's how things happen

And no one can change it

It might seem quite cruel

But I suppose it's the rule

Because there are things I can't promise

And things I will miss

Things I can't fix with only a kiss

I wish I could tell you

That I'll always be there

But that's not the way

Things tend to go

I only hope you'll hang on

And I only hope you'll dream on

And that the world will never change you

From the sweet little boy

I see right before me

Because there are things I can't promise

And things I will miss

Things I can't fix with only a kiss

I wish I could tell you

That I'll always be there

But that's not the way

That things tend to go"

With one last strum of the mandola Al finished the son, and looking over noticed that Sonny had fallen asleep during the number. Smiling gently, Al set his mandola down and gently unwrapped the boy's hands from his neck. The gangster stood and laid his son down, tucking his small body into the bed.

Once he was sure the boy was fine, he picked up his instrument and left the room.

If that wasn't incredibly sappy, he didn't know what was.

"I'm getting there!" Al shouted into the phone, as he rooted through the fridge attempting to find something to feed Sonny, which wasn't exactly easy with the damn phone cord. "Ya know I need to send Sonny to school beforehand!"

"Well ya better hurry." Johnny said. "We need all of our best men here."

"I know!" Al growled, grabbing a container and looking at it. Was pasta a suitable breakfast food for a seven year old?

"We really need to make a good impression of that French dude! Which won't be possible if the second-in-command isn't there!"

"Yes, I get it. Napoleon Bonaparte is really fucking important. Blah, blah, blah." Al slammed the refrigerator door before he headed over to the stove. He brought out a pot and filled it with water before setting it on the stove to boil.

"Of course, that's why I invited him! Plus I thought it would be nice, since he's new in town. Though there's also the perk of no one trying to murder with him around."

"Mmm." Al hummed, pulling out a pan. He set that on the stove and turned the burner on, before dumping the leftover pasta sauce in it. "Smart."

"Yep."

Al smirked, imagining Torrio beaming with pride, as he pulled out the pasta noodles.

"Dammit." Al scowled, as he looked in the box. He was going to have to go shopping after the party. At least there was enough for the morning. He needed to stop making so much pasta.

"What?" Johnny asked.

"Nothing, almost out of pasta noodles." Al said, placing the box on the counter.

"Pasta… are you making pasta for breakfast?" Johnny laughed.

"No! … Yes." Al sighed. "What else am I supposed to make?"

"Eggs, bacon, toast." Johnny listed. "The list goes on, but I do know pasta is not on it."

"Fuck off." Al growled. "You know I don't know how to do this." He sighed. "Mae was so much better."

"Yes, I get that. Listen Al, I've known you for a long time. Since you were a kid! You, Mae, the kid, you guys are like family to me. It's hard, but you do know that there are people here for you. To help you. If you want, you can send Sonny to live with the wife and me, just for a while. Just so you can sort yourself out."

Al sighed. "I don't know, Torrio."

"It'd be just for a while. I think it'd be good for the boy. Just think it over Al. I'll see you later." Torrio hung up, and Al put the phone down.

Sighing, Al continued on making the pasta, and luckily Sonny decided to show up the moment he finished.

The boy took one look at the meal his father made, and started to laugh.

"_Knock it off."_ Al told him, though he was grinning a bit too.

The gangster made his son a plate of pasta, and set it down in front of him. He then turned away to get to work cleaning up his mess.

"Da?"

Al froze for a second, before turning around to face Sonny. He barely ever talked.

"_Yes?"_

Sonny glanced down at the ground, before glancing back up.

_I forgot to give you this. _He gave Al a piece of paper. _I know it's not something you'd be interested in, but it's just a day when the parents come in and see what we do._

Al smiled, and glanced at the date. It was quite a while from then, around three months. Turning it over in his mind, Al set the paper aside and bent down to face him.

"_I'll be there if you want."_

Sonny's eyes glistened as a smile spread across his face. _Really?_

"_The only way I'd miss it is if I get turned into a frog." _Al promised, making the most ridiculous promise he could come up with, getting a little giggle that filled the gangster with joy.

"_C'mon, let's get you to school."_


End file.
